Like this:

When I was all but three years of age, I had a special friend called Karen. I knew that there was something special about her, amongst others the fact that she was not a boy. Don’t ask me how I knew this, I just did. I think it was something in her eyes, when she gazed at me. We used to talk about small things, but they were important to us, because in our heads we shared them. We could also sit for ages, just holding hands, feeling special for being together.

Until one day she left me for Mister Teddy! I used to like Teddies, before Karen and if I am completely honest, even during Karen. But since that fateful day I don’t, not anymore. She told me it was because he understood things about her that I didn’t and all this without even telling him. I asked how could she tell. She said just by the look in his eyes. I implored her to look into mine and see that I did understand… really, but sadly… I didn’t.

Mister Teddy was the first one to break my heart and I’m still trying to forgive him. Maybe some fine day I will and then he can sleep next to me again. After all, it’s been awhile now…

Hurray! Hurrah, here’s my chance to ask you all to please remember my dear departed relative, Mister Blobby Burcke (picture included!). As the last remaining specimen of this elusive species Blobulus Burckulus, I have a vested interest in him not being forgotten. Although yours truly has evolved slightly since Mister Blobby’s untimely departure, I still proudly carry his jeans or was it genes? (either will do)

I’m still working on the procreation bit, but I could use some help! Hint, hint… Anyways, here’s to all animals and Mister Blobby in particular. Have an animal-loving day now, you all!

A guy took his blonde girlfriend to her first football game. They had great seats right behind their team’s bench. After the game, he asked her how she liked it.
“Oh, I really liked it,” she replied, “especially the tight pants and all the big muscles, but
I just couldn’t understand why they were killing each other over 25 cents.”…
Dumbfounded, her boyfriend asked, “What do you mean?”
“Well, they flipped a coin, one team got it and then for the rest of the game, all they kept screaming was…
‘Get the quarterback! Get the quarterback!’
I’m like…Helloooooo?
It’s only 25 cents!!!!”

On a plane flight from Seattle to Chicago, a blonde was sitting in economy class. About half way through the flight, she got up and moved to an empty seat in first class. A flight attendant who observed this, went over to her and politely explained that she had to move back to economy class because that was what her ticket was for.

The blonde replied, “I’m blonde, I’m beautiful, I’m going to Chicago and I’m staying right here.” After several attempts to explain to the blonde why she had to return to economy class, the flight attendant gave up.

She went to the cockpit and explained the situation to the pilot and co-pilot. The co-pilot said, “Let me try.” He went up to the blonde and politely tried to explain to her why she needed to return to her seat in economy class. But the blonde only replied, “I’m blonde, I’m beautiful, I’m going to Chicago and I’m staying right here.”

Frustrated, the co-pilot returned to the cockpit. He suggested tha…t perhaps they should have the airline call the police and have her arrested when they land.

“Wait a minute,” said the pilot. “Did you say she’s blonde? I can handle this. My wife is a blonde. I speak Blonde.” So he went up to the woman sitting in first class and whispered something in her ear. “I’m sorry,” said the blonde, and she promptly got up and returned to her seat in economy class.

“What did you say to her?” ask the astonished flight attendant and co-pilot. To which the pilot replied, “I just told her that first class isn’t going to Chicago.”

Two sailors were adrift in a life boat following a dramatic escape from a burning freighter.
While rummaging through the boats provisions, one of the men came across a little lamp.
Secretly hoping that a genie would appear, he rubbed the lamp vigorously.
To the amazement of the castaways, a genie appeared.
This particular genie, however, stated he could only give one wish, not the standard three.

Without giving too much thought to the matter the man blurted out, “Make the entire ocean beer.”
The genie, clapped his hands with deafening crash, and immediately the entire sea turned into the finest brew ever sampled by mortals.
Simultaneously, the genie vanished, only the gentle lapping of the beer on the hull broke the stillness as the men considered their circumstances.

One man looked disgustedly at the other whose wish had been granted.
After, a long, tension filled moment, he said, ” Good go mate. Now we are going to have to pee in the boat.”

Wiley the wolfdog cried while visiting the graveside of his owner’s grandmother.

Some viewers have pointed out the wolfdog’s behavior seems to be reverse sneezing, to which Sarah Varley responded by writing, “I am not a vet so I can’t say if he’s reverse sneezing…I can tell you that he has never done that before and hasn’t done it since. I may be anthropomorphizing his actions but its how I’m choosing to deal with loss…” She adds Wiley is in good health.

Wiley lives at the Lockwood Animal Rescue Center, a sanctuary for wolfdogs. Wiley barely escaped death at an animal control facility before arriving at the Rescue Centre. Wiley is now part of a program where he provides support and therapy to war veterans with PTSD.

The lengths that some people will go to in order to exercise their right to be silly is astounding. A blonde with a twist was spotted in a Murcia shopping street, but the lady in question was actually a brunette, who had paradoxically dyed the hair on her head blonde! It was her tiny mustache and her eyebrows that gave her away. No other tufts were in evidence, which was perhaps fortunate for her and the general public.

Obviously some members of the female populace no longer wish to be appreciated for their brains only, or maybe they think that they´ll have more fun this way. Have they forgotten that having more indiscriminate fun stems from an incapacity to comprehend the basic rule of cause and effect and a whimsical approach to the consequences?

Are they perhaps jealous over the lack of brunette jokes? It may also be that they feel left out, when they notice the increasing obtuseness displayed on the internet and wish to at least appear slightly dimmer than they really are. An insufficient exchange of bodily fluids with members of either sex is probably at the root of this remarkable display. One can only wish for them to get lucky very soon, before more mischief is perpetrated.

The author wishes to point out that he himself was actually blonde as a boy, but he hastens to add that his hair got progressively darker with age. He hopes that any occasional relapse, past, present or future, be overlooked and is eternally grateful that he has finally turned gray.

Yesterday my daughter again asked why I didn’t do something useful with my time. Talking about my “doing something useful” seemed to be her favorite topic of conversation. She was “only thinking of me” and suggested I go down to the senior center and hang out with the guys.

I did this and when I got home last night I decided to teach her a lesson about staying out of my business. I told her that I had joined a parachute club.
…
She said, “Are you nuts? You’re almost 72 years old and you ‘re going to start jumping out of airplanes?”

I proudly showed her that I even got a membership card. She said to me, “Good grief, where are your glasses!
This is a membership to a Prostitute Club, not a Parachute Club.”

“I’m in trouble again, and I don ‘t know what to do… I signed up for five jumps a week.” I told her.

She fainted.
Life as a senior citizen is not getting any easier but sometimes it can be fun.

I need help! I have been diagnosed with severe case of Cuddle Deprivation Syndrome!
I’ve taken to hugging lampposts, even unilluminated ones, and wonton, unnecessary licking of used postage stamps.
To seek professional help seems a trifle undignified and could possibly be misconstrued and might also be illegal. I am in a leftover pickle and some sweetness is required.
Could I possibly solicit the aid of a member of the opposite *bleep*, who has sufficient mammary qualifications for a dose of the milk of human kindness?

When I was a boy, my father sculpted me a sword out of oak wood. It was beautiful, almost as tall as me and he had painted it white. It was a curved sword, something akin to a scimitar. He presented it to me with a solemn gesture, from father to son, almost like a ceremony. I was proud as a peacock. Of course I would have to try out my newly acquired treasure.

Once upon a time, my mother used to have a lovely flower garden. It was her pride and joy. That is, until one day my father presented me with a shiny new sword. This sword must truly have been special, because I fancied that I was clutching a Japanese katana. It imbued me with a berserker rage that was unfortunately directed against my mother’s poor hapless flora.

She was happy at first, was my mother, when I brought her a lovely bouquet of assorted flowers. But then an awful suspicion dawned on her rosy countenance. I think it was after she had glanced my sword, which was by then a lovely shade of green.

That’s when I decided this would be a good moment to take a long protracted walk. I made my first pilgrimage to Ynys Mon then, on my bare knees. It didn’t help, even when I brought her back a branch of mistletoe. I was still prohibited from going anywhere but school, for a month of Sundays.

Now thirty Sundays may not seem like a long time to you. But it’s a very long time for a young boy, aged nine.

The mother dog, Amanda, raced back and forth between the house, putting her 10 day old puppies in the safest place she could find – a firetruck!
She didn’t stop racing back into the fire until all of her puppies were safely away from the fire. The firemen on scene could not believe their eyes. Most people have never seen a dog this smart or this brave!

After rescuing all of her pups from the blaze, Amanda sat down next to them, protecting them with her body. Onlookers called an emergency veterinary service and she and her pups were rushed to the hospital. Aside from one puppy being treated for serious burns, the entire family are alive and well – thanks to the bravery of Amanda, the heroic mother!

A man sees a sign outside a house – ‘Talking Dog For Sale.’ He rings the bell, the owner appears and tells him the dog can be viewed in the back garden.The man sees a very nice looking brown dog sitting there.

“Do you really talk?” he asks the dog.”Yes,” the dog replies.After recovering from the shock of hearing the dog talk, the man asks, “So, tell me your story.” The dog looks up and says, “Well, I discovered that I could talk when I was pretty young. I wanted to help the government, so I told the SAS.”In no time at all they had me jetting from country to country, sitting in rooms with spies and world leaders, because no one imagined that a dog would be eavesdropping.”I was one of their most valuable spies for eight years. But the jetting around really tired me out, and I knew I wasn’t getting any younger so I decided to settle down. I signed up for a job at Heathrow to do some undercover security work, wandering near suspicious characters and listening in. I uncovered some incredible dealings and was awarded several medals. I got married, had a few puppies, and now I’ve just retired.

“The man is amazed. He goes back into the house and asks the owner how much he wants for the dog.”Ten quid,” the owner says.”£10!!? But this dog is absolutely amazing! Why on earth are you selling him so cheaply?””Because he’s a lying bastard. He’s never been out of the garden.”

I´ve been having daydreams about a bed, as opposed to sleeping on the concrete with a piece of cardboard as a mattress. A bed: a white sea of softness, to swim in while dreaming that smells of roses and lavender. A tender pillow, made for hugging during the long, cold nights. Silken sheets that caress my body with a soft ´swish, swish´as I turn from side to side. A light woolen blanket, the touch of which sends me into a deep slumber, the sheep having already been counted. And then to wake up in this little corner of paradise to the divine smell of brewing coffee. Mmmm… maybe someday Ralphie!

Since I wrote this, I have only slept on the street once, thanks to all the wonderful pilgrims I have met, who help me out! I shall hold them in my heart for ever!

I´m leaving Barcelona, intent on starting a lucky streak, in search of my very own Shangrila. Somewhere in the mountains of Galicia, in proximity to the sea, I hope to find it. A haven of safety to call home for the rest of my days, surrounded by friendly, peace-loving people, who will accept me for who I am. Mmmm… one can but dream!

I´m a bit apprehensive, for I am traveling unknown territory now, at the end of which, hopefully, I will find my friend Freddy still there in Santiago the Compostela. And he´d bloody well better be alive or I´ll kill him! I´m tired of receiving bad news but then, he´s built like a brick shithouse and younger than I, which is still no guarantee on the streets. I hope and pray!

First stop Zaragosa, where I just have to make money to be able to continue the next leg of my trip, which would be Logroño(I never went there!) From there on, it should be easy sailing, for then I will be on the pilgrim´s route and am bound to meet fellow travellers with the same destination. I wonder how long it will take me to get there?

I´m sitting on a park bench reminiscing about times gone by. In front of me on the ground are loads of broken seed-shells of what they call Pipas here. People eat them by the bagload, nibbling them one by one, after having divested them of their shells with two deft little bites. I´ve never been able to master the technique. A white dove came to peck at them. I thought to myself whether this were the Dove of Peace, sent to me by my guardian angel to bring me tranquility. I sincerely hope so. What is there for this dove to feed on though, but the broken shards of the seeds of ideas that never came to fruition. Dreams that have grown tired of their forebears being shattered time and time again. I almost feel like giving up hope this time. What does the future have in store for me now: more disappointment?

All I wanted was to earn enough with my writing to live on, which hasn´t happened yet and might never happen. Should I still keep going, just for the sake of it? It´s harder without feedback, not having the money for internet. I feel like a clown performing his silly tricks, with for an audience one lone dove. At least I just made myself smile, albeit wearily… Correction, of two doves, no… three and a sparrow! My audience is growing even as my spirit is lifting! All might still be right with the world.

I´m happy, because I have a problem, two actually. I have found that when there is a complete lack of problems, life gets boring. And I´ve been known to go to great lengths to avoid boredom, just for the heck of it. What the Chinese consider a curse, namely: “May you live in interesting times!”, is to me a blessing in disguise. You may be wondering by this time what my problem(s) is(or are)!?

You know how, when you are a writer, you sometimes find yourself at a loss about what to write about… The opposite has happened to me over the past few days, in that so much has happened that I could write about, that I simply don´t know where to start. And even more frustratingly, most of it I am forbidden to mention even. for fear of the consequences. I shall keep schtum on all these topics, for reasons that I have mentioned in another chapter. I´ve done well so far, haven´t I?

I´ve already written two paragraphs on not much in particular. Maybe I should have become a speech writer for politicians!!??? Any-way, I´m in Gandia, which entirely by coincidence, I wrote about a little while ago, only to find everybody whom I knew gone. And I do like a bit of company! Of the right kind of course, because the company I was in a couple of days ago, I want to avoid at all cost! I do not in the least appreciate stocky gentlemen with a complete lack of humor. Nuff said!

The Borgias are still here by the way, looking as grim and sanctimonious as I remembered them. I would like to go on a rant and a rave, but the trouble is that the unpolished truth hurts and people want to forget all about that. All that counts is entertainment, a little respite from your own conscience. Because, … you are not doing wrong to anybody, are you, by being a cog in the machine?

The machine that equates people´s lives, misery and heartbreak to numbers on a spreadsheet!? I shall just say this and then I shall shut up. If you equate, for example, a father or a mother´s inability to provide their children with a crust to eat, with numbers, for the sake of your idolised profit, then you are guilty of a crime, period!

And somewhere, somewhen, you will have to account for your actions. In the meantime, I salute you, with a smile on my face, in the assurance that Karma´s irony will catch up with you… Chiao, Bambini, sleep tight!

A priest hooks a huge fish. Helping him reel it in, a sailor says “Whoa, look at the size of that fucker!” “Hey, mind your language!” says the priest. Embarrassed, the sailor thinks quickly and blurts out, “Sorry Father, but that’s what this fish is called – it’s a Fucker fish”

Accepting the explanation, the priest forgives the sailor and takes the fish back to church. “Look at this huge fucker” says the priest, spotting the bishop. “Language please! This is God’s house,” replies the bishop. “No, no – that’s what this fish is called,” says the priest. “Oh,” says the bishop, scratching his chin “I could clean that fucker And we could have it for dinner”.. So the bishop takes the fish, cleans it, and brings it to the mother superior. “Could you cook this fucker for dinner tonight?” he asks her. “My, what language!” she exclaims, clearly shocked. “No, sister that’s what the fish is called – a fucker” says the bishop.

Satisfied with the explanation, the mother superior says, “Wonderful, I’ll cook that fucker tonight, the Pope is coming for dinner!” The fish tastes just great and the Pope asks where they got it. “Well, I caught the fucker!” says the priest. “And I cleaned the fucker!” says the bishop. “And I cooked the fucker!” says the mother superior.

The Pope stares at them for a minute with a steely glaze, leans back on his chair, takes off his cap, puts his feet up on the table, pours himself a whiskey and says “You know what? You pricks are alright.”

With spring here again most people will start thinking about their annual holiday, to relax after a hard year’s work. But what should be a trouble-free episode often turns out to be a stressful time. Let us dissect the travel experience into its composite parts and see what we can do to avoid problems.

The first part of any trip is deciding where to go. As hardly anybody travels alone, it is imperative that all parties are in agreement on the destination and on how to spend your time there. Communication is the key!

The times being what they are, it is a good idea to calculate what the budget will be for your trip and take care not to exceed this, by making a list of planned expenditures. If after running through this list, you find that the cost of a planned trip would be prohibitive, then scrap it and start from scratch.

If you have the opportunity to travel out-of-season and to book early this will also reduce the cost.
The internet provides you with an excellent tool for planning and checking every aspect of your trip. Planning ahead will save money and hassle. It is basically half the battle against stress won!

To go sightseeing you will perforce have to travel within the city or region of your choice. Check an online city or regional map for the location of your hotel, to see whether it is close to public transportation. Acquaint yourself with the map before you get there.

But having said this, it would a good idea to walk whenever possible as this is healthy and less cumbersome. It leaves you time to soak up the atmosphere and really get to know the culture and the people.

Whatever the length of your trip, you will not be able to see all that one place has to offer and truly enjoy it. Choose what is most important to you and give yourselves a realistic time span for the visits.
Contact Tourist Information before you leave and check everything online!

Do not leave your home unprotected. The ideal would be to get a trusted person to house-sit for you and have them take care of pets, plants, etc… A robbery or another mishap would spoil your holiday for sure!

Try to travel as light as possible and double-check before leaving the door that every person has the necessary documents on him or her. Traveling light avoids long waits in airports, customs and such! Ask yourself if the kitchen sink is really necessary?

Health tips: a.) If you use medication, make sure you have enough and get a doctor’s statement to provide to customs and renewal upon loss. b.) If you are traveling to a hot climate, remember to use sun block and drink enough water! c.) Upon(or even before, internet!) arrival ask for emergency phone numbers. It always pays to be prepared! d.) Drink in moderation…

Safety tips: a.) Rent a hotel safe and only take as much money as you need on any given day. b.) Never leave valuables unattended! c.) Always travel in pairs or more.

Leave yourselves two days after you get back, to acclimatise and sort out any small problems that may have arisen while you were away.

Last but not least: always pack your smile and a good dose of common sense!

No list is exhaustive, but I hope that I covered the most important stuff. Enjoy your holidays!

May I join you in the doghouse, Rover?
I wish to retire till the party’s over.
Since three o’clock I’ve done my best
To entertain each tiny guest. My conscience now I’ve left behind me,
And if they want me, let them find me.
I blew their bubbles, I sailed their boats,
I kept them from eachother’s throats. I told them tales of magic lands,
I took them out to wash their hands.
I sorted their rubbers and tied their laces,
I wiped their noses and dried their faces. Of similarities there’s lots
Twixt tiny tots and Hottentots.
I’ve earned repose to heal the ravages
Of these angelic-looking savages. Oh, progeny playing by itself
Is a lonely little elf,
But progeny in roistering batches
Would drive St. Francis from here to Natchez. Shunned are the games a parent proposes,
They prefer to squirt each other with hoses,
Their playmates are their natural foemen
And they like to poke each other’s abdomen. Their joy needs another woe’s to cushion it,
Say a puddle, and someone littler to push in it.
They observe with glee the ballistic results
Of ice cream with spoons for catapults, And inform the assembly with tears and glares
That everyone’s presents are better than theirs.
Oh, little women and little men,
Someday I hope to love you again, But not till after the party’s over,
So give me the key to the doghouse, Rover